Six Parallel Lives
by Dea Liberty
Summary: Other directions Remus' life could have taken - other possibilities. Mild SR SLASH.


**Title:** Six Parallel Lives  
**Pairing:** Sirius/Remus  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Other directions Remus' life could have taken - other possibilities.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, characters, names and indicia are trademarks and copyright to Warner Brothers and JK Rowling.

**I**

He's young when it happens (four maybe, or five - bright and lively - and with so much potential); too young, too innocent, really, to understand what's going on. All he knows is that his brother's in back at the house (in their room, watching through the window), his mother's sobbing and his father is shutting the door of the shed (down at the bottom of the garden, in the shadows of the birch trees where he used to love to play).

His father stands in front of him, eyes pained, tear-filled (aching and aching with something he can't name), shotgun in his hand (usually precise fingers clumsy, shaking, clutching so tight his knuckles are white) - and he still doesn't understand what's happening.

"Da" he asks, and tears spill from those strong, steadfast eyes (he drew courage from them once) making his own eyes water and chest hurt.

"Sorry, my Remus - so sorry. For the best, my son - for you. To save you the pain."

The moonlight filters gently through the cracks in the wood illuminating his father's sad, sad eyes, glittering off the metal of the gun, hi-lighting his own soft, childish features, tawny hair and spirited eyes.

And outside, his mother's soft cries echo, muffled by the wood.

**II**

He sits alone in the corner of the library, Hogwarts, A History opened in his lap. It snowed last night; the majority of the students are outside, playing (snowball fights and snow angels, snowmen, sledding, skating on the lake) with one another. Remus curls into himself a little more, and tries to go back to reading (trying to block out the laughter, the joy, the companionship and delight) but occasionally sneaking glances out of the window.

Finally, he gives up on pretending (that he doesn't care, that he doesn't want that too) and rests his head on the windowsill, wishful and wanting.

A shriek of delight, two brooms flashing around the corner and then two boys (both dark-haired, eyes bright, mischievous and stubborn and ecstatic - and so very lucky) chasing each other, laughing and shouting.

Best friends: Sirius Black and James Potter - inseparable, brilliant and bright, and notorious and loved. Not alone. Never alone.

Just like all the other Gryffindors.

He could have been one of them.

He turns his eyes back to the book, glancing past his uniform, his house tie. But he was Remus Lupin - and, when it'd come down to it, he'd chosen Ravenclaw.

He'd chosen to be alone.

**III**

He doesn't let them do it. He can't let them risk so much when they've already given him more than he had ever dreamed to have.

Friends (like brothers in everything but blood), companionship, help and support - and love like nothing he's ever known (Sirius, beside him, eyes alight with amusement, or sleeping, ivory skin and black hair spread out over his bed, his pillow).

He's not going to let them risk themselves - _he_ won't risk it.

He won't let them see the monster he becomes.

He curls in the corner, tucking his knees under his chin, eyes watering as he tries to fight the pain (skin torn, clothes shredded, bone-deep aching - and alone, cold and tired in a dusty, torn up house). He lets out a small sob, breathing hitching (and hurting, hurting, hurting everywhere) as he squeezes his eyes shut, praying it'll go away, that someone would remember him, that someone would come and take care of him.

But he never dreams it's possible.

The door creaks open and a familiar pair of dark eyes stare back at him, widening in surprise - before warm, strong, caring arms slip around him, a cloak's draped over his shoulders and soft lips brush his forehead (soft words, soft whispers, soft touches, helping him heal, helping him forget - for another month - the creature lurking inside).

From then - and for always - Sirius would be there, tending to him, after every full moon - but the wolf was a side of him he kept hidden from the world - even from _his_ world, his Sirius.

It was a part of him that Sirius would never know - and could never understand.

**IV**

It's for the best, he tells himself over and over again. Times at school were one thing, life was a completely different matter altogether.

He would have burdened them, would have got in their way (made things harder, made things difficult, made them have to think of him whenever they wanted to do something) and he never wanted to give them trouble, not when they'd been everything to him, not when they'd already given so much to him.

The train journey is the loneliest one he's ever made. To know what companionship is like, only to lose it - to give it up, makes him feel as if he's the only one left in the world even though he knows that all he has to do is go back and find them.

But he would end up being the only one left behind as the others move on, move past him.

And he doesn't want to be the reason they have to keep glancing behind.

Many years later (long, lonely and lifeless years later) and many hundreds of miles away, he hears the tale, hears the news - and it sends him reeling (running outside, falling onto knees, crying and retching and disbelieving - tears never ending, grief never ending - and gagging even when there's nothing left inside).

It destroys his world.

All gone. Betrayed by one of their own. And all he can feel is emptiness (not even anger at the unfairness, at the betrayal).

And, in the end, he's still the only one left behind.

**V**

Sirius comes back to him one morning, curling up behind him, kissing his neck, breathing him in, murmuring something about secrets and safety. And he knows that James and Lily and tiny little Harry are safe now, protected by Sirius' strong, strong loyalty.

Sirius would never tell a soul - not even Remus himself. But he would never ask - he doesn't even trust himself with these kinds of secrets.

Everyday, Sirius becomes more and more skittish, afraid (so, so afraid - such a huge responsibility: your best friend's life) - knowing they would guess, knowing they would know.

It doesn't take long for them to find him.

One day, Sirius simply disappears.

Tortured - he hears constantly in the news - tormented and suffering (but quiet and silent and loyal to the core), alone - comforted only by the knowledge that James and Lily are safe, and Harry's growing and walking and talking - and always being told his godfather's name, his godfather's story.

Sirius will never tell their secret ("keep them safe, Sirius, always safe""always Remus; I'll take their secret to my grave.")

He knows Sirius keeps this promise because he never hears of him again - and the Potters stay safe and protected, still alive, still hidden.

Sirius takes their secret to his grave - and Remus is left to live without them all, more alone than he's ever been.

**VI**

It's Peter's fault (living up to his name, they should have known, should have guessed - a rat, always a rat). It's Peter who betrays them all.

Looking into Sirius' eyes as they plead with him, beg him to believe ("never, Remus, I'd never betray them, I'd never give their secret. I loved them, Remus, I did; you know. You know") and Remus _knows_ it's true.

Peter. He needed to find the rat if he wanted to the world to know the truth - if he wanted Sirius free ("I asked them to, Remus; I thought it's be a good idea").

They'd changed at the last minute, without telling him, without telling anyone - and they'd all been betrayed by one they'd trusted as much as they trusted themselves.

The wolf in him finds Pettigrew, cowering and scared and under the Weasley's roof, caged and shivering and pretending to be the rat that he is. Remus knows him by sight (how many times had he been like that in front of their eyes?), by scent (because the wolf _knows_) - by everything about him. He has to fight down the wolf, stop himself from tearing Pettigrew to pieces for his crime (remembering Sirius, remembering his heart).

And Sirius is clutching and clinging to him, asking him to forgive, asking him to just hold him - telling him over and over and over again that he's sorry, that he's so, so sorry.

And Remus holds him, comforts him, whispers soft words of reassurance, shares his grief, shares his guilt - shares his everything.

They have each other, they have Harry (looking up at them through James' face and Lily's eyes) - and they're not alone.

It's not everything Remus wanted but it's more than he thought he'd ever have.


End file.
